


sleep on the floor

by entropyangel



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Blurb, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Not a reader insert, PTSD, Smut, Trauma, Violence, deputy has been brainwashed by jacob, eli takes care of the deputy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26725687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entropyangel/pseuds/entropyangel
Summary: deputy liz kills jacob. she needs someone to anchor her down to earth.
Relationships: Eli Palmer & Original Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	sleep on the floor

**Author's Note:**

> (pretending eli doesn’t die)  
> this is my first kind of one shot blurb type of deal, and i had a hard time not getting attached lol. please enjoy. eli is so neglected in this fandom, so this is for all my eli lovers🥺

He's slumped back against a boulder, a trail of crimson leaking down his chin, body lax. And she hates his eyes. Ocean blue but somehow defunct. Open, lingering on her even after he's dead. She sinks down, her rifle clutched against her chest like she's hugging the cold metal.

Something was supposed to happen after his heart seized to beat. Something was supposed to return to her, supposed to hinge itself back into place, remind herself of who she was before, but she's crouched below his corpse and she feels remaindered, like a leftover consequence of his trials and torment.

"Deputy!" She would turn around but she can't muster the energy. She can her his boots smacking against rock as he comes closer. And she feels him behind her, his warmth omnipresent and his breathing strained. 

And she wishes she could say there's silence but the gunfire echoes in her ears.

She wonders if Eli is disappointed in her. She killed Jacob but she's slumped over on the ground, void of purpose, of heart. She feels him crouch down beside her. She can't look at him, but she feels his hand wrap around her waist. His skin is calloused and rough but so is hers. 

"Let's go home." His voice has a rugged quality but a softness all at once. Where's home? A person? A place? The forest where she lays her head down on a ratty sleeping bag? The cage that Jacob locked her in after trials?

Eli and his strong arms?

Home is a funny word and she can't quite describe it, so she doesn't say anything, but stands up shakily. She drops her rifle. She doesn't want it anymore, not when it's covered in Jacobs blood, her blood too. Eli goes to pick it up for her but she grabs his wrist.

She's still not looking at him, but at her bloodied boots as she shakes her head no. "Leave it." He listens to her, and they begin to trail off. Her fingers are still looped around his wrist as they navigate down the mountain, his arm strong around his waist. She thumbs his pulse point, listens to his blood flowing and his heart pounding. They reach the bottom of the mountain. She can see the bunker.

"You did good. So, so good, Liz," he says quietly as they walk towards the bunker. His approval is one of the only delights that still makes her heart thump with a profound warmth. But she doesn't say anything, just nods and continues to rub her thumb over the skin of his wrist.

They reach the bunker and Eli lets go of her. She's first to climb down the ladder. Her feet feel heavy as she enters the bunker, her fingers sliding down the cold metal of the ladder. Eli comes down quickly, turning towards her almost immediately. "People are already celebrating, Tammy and Wheaty too," Eli reports quietly, passively as he peels off her black tank top. She doesn't know how to do that, to celebrate after what she's done.

He nods for her to follow him as trails off towards the couch. She listens, and parks herself on the old rickety sofa. He crouches down in front of her, opening the first aid kit. He returns his attention to her, calloused fingertips looking for any injuries.

He finds her scars and old bruises, the only new cut he finds being a deep, jagged one on her side. "Jesus, Liz," he breathes. She likes when he says her name. Sometimes she forgets she has one, forgets she's a person and not a machine muddled with grey areas.

She never noticed the cut. But now she remembers how she got it when a cultist jammed a knife into her side while she clambered up the mountain to get to Jacob. Eli rummages through the first aid kit, retrieving rubbing alcohol, gauze, and a Q-tip. 

He dips the Q-tip into the alcohol, and looks up into her eyes with a gentility she's never known. "This is gonna sting." He always warns her, always is so tender with her. She nods. It should sting more but she doesn't feel much anything as he cleans out her wound. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, apologizing for the pain he believes he's causing her as he cleans the cut. She shakes her head and places her hand atop his free hand. He finishes cleaning the wound, and unrolls the gauze, carefully covering the cut and taping it to her skin.

He's done and he stands up, only to plop down beside her. And she's never been so thankful to have someone there next to her as her hand folds with his. It's almost instinct as he leans over, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head. "Are you gonna be ok?" He asks.

It's a stupid question, because she’s just killed someone, but she shrugs. "I don't know." He frowns, and presses another kiss to her cheek. She unfolds her hand from his, instead pressing both hands on his shoulders and climbing onto his lap. Her strong thighs squeeze around his legs as she leans forward, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

He smells like burning sage and firewood. She hums in delight as his arm wraps around her waist. She begins to pepper kisses across his neck and her tongue glides across the column of his throat. She needs him in an intimate way, the way in which she can feel his warmth on every patch of her skin and can feel his lips on her skin, sinking lower and lower.

She needs to feel something right.

"Liz.." he breathes, his fingers squeezing her hip. She hums and pulls away, feeling something hard poking at her inner thigh. "Are you sure?" He asks. She nods. "Yes." She raises her head, leaning in and kissing his lips. She knows them well but their softness always surprises her. He groans against her mouth, his fingers dancing across the small of her back.

She pulls away. His eyes are dark like pools of ink, hiding away secrets and memories from long ago. Her thumb strokes across his cheek, and he smiles gently, his fingers wandering up to the clasp of her bra. His nails scratch against her skin and she shivers against him, smiling a genuine smile for the first time in weeks, months, years, lifetimes?

He laughs and the sound rumbles against her like thunder. His fingers unhook her bra, and she slides the garment off, discarding it on the floor of the bunker. His hands are large and warm, exploring her chest like he hasn't felt her skin a million times over and knows it like the back of his hand. She nuzzles herself closer to his chest, kissing all over his face.

He grumbles, his hands squeezing the backs of her thighs. She gasps and bucks forward, making him laugh again. His fingers trail down to her pants. He quickly unbuttons and unzips them, and she clumsily turns around, her bottom still pressed in his lap as she sloppily wrangles out of her jeans. 

His hand circles around, squeezing her hip as he moves her hair aside and kisses her neck. Her breath hitches in her throat and she finally kicks off her jeans. His hand creeps around, fingers tucking into the seam of her underwear. "I like you right here," he murmurs against her skin, her butt pressed against his crotch.

She snorts, but the noise melts into a groan as his hand dips into her underwear, rough fingers pressing against the warmth between her thighs. His teeth graze against her neck, and her fingers scratch against his knee. "You're too good to me," she whispers.

He hums and rubs his fingers in a fast motion that makes her thighs clench around his arm. His free hand gently takes her chin in his hand, tilting her head and forcing her to look at him. She leans up to kiss him, and he grunts against her mouth. "You feeling ok still?" He murmurs as he pulls away. She nods. "More than ok."

He chuckles and peppers kisses across her shoulder. His lips are omnipresent and overwhelming when mixed with the sensation of his fingers between her thighs. Something impossibly tight builds in her stomach, a coil on the cusp of snapping. Her breathing is strained and he can tell she's close.

His teeth scrape against her earlobe, making her mewl in response, her back blades digging into his chest as she writhes against him. "C'mon," he growls in a low way, hungry for her release, her strained breaths and grunts as his fingers move against her. The way his teeth scratch her flesh, the hand moving viciously in her underwear, the low grumble in her ear, it's too much to handle and she lets go.

It's a cacophony of groans and breaths and Eli's voice egging her on. Her legs tremble and the coil in her stomach comes undone. "That's my girl," he growls, laughing breathlessly against the shell of her ear. Her nails dig into his knee as she comes down, opening her eyes, chest heaving, eyes bleary.

"Fuck, Eli," she pants, nearly falling over off of his lap. But his large hands catch her, a safety net of warm, rough skin. He slides her off of his lap and onto the sofa. He stands up in front of her. She wants to do right by someone, wants to make someone feel good. Her hands reach forward, dusky eyes tracing the bulge in his pants, up his chest and to his face. His pupils are probably dilated, but his eyes are so dim, so bottomless, she can't even tell for sure. 

Her nimble fingers undo his belt. He smiles in a gentle way, laughing quietly at how tentative she is. "What?" She questions, quirking an eyebrow as she takes his belt out. The worn leather glides against her palms as she discards it onto the floor. Eli shrugs and she scoffs, all while unzipping his pants.

Her movements are graceless and urgent, and he laughs again as he stumbles out of his pants while she helps tug at them. "You're always so impatient. Let me take care of you," he murmurs, taking hold of her wrists. She lets out a quiet laugh. "Haven't you already?"

He says nothing, releases her wrists, rolls his eyes and pulls off his boxers. It's one swift motion that makes her heart lurch against her ribcage. She's seen it before but it always manages to catch her off guard. She needs him, needs to make him feel good.

Her hands move in a way that's almost natural, long, bruised fingers tightening around his shaft. Her eyes flicker upwards, locking with his warm, whiskey ones. His mouth is ajar, his large hands gently raking through her dark hair. Her hand moves in a tediously slow motion, her stomach flipping when Eli lets out a groan, his hand trailing down to her neck.

His thumb brushes over her throat, fingers massaging her skin. She feels an encouragement she's only ever known in those cages, going through trials and feeling her heart swell with pride when Jacob would call her strong. But this is a different type of encouragement. A carnal, deprived type.

She leans forward, replacing her hand with her mouth. It seems to take Eli by surprise as he bucks forward, nearly making her choke. He breathes hard, his legs trembling as her nails scratch up and down his strong thighs. "Fuck, Liz," he groans, his hands moving to her shoulders. "You're doin' so good, hon," he praises breathlessly, and his approval only makes her take him deeper.

His hands loop back into her hair, pulling gently at the dark strands. He has to restrain himself from bucking against her mouth. She's warm and profound and comforting to him, in all senses. Her hands slide up to his hips, her nails scraping against his skin as they move. 

Her eyes travel up, locking with his in a committed, vehement way that makes him shudder. Her eyes are so sharp, so narrow and unlit. He can see the past, the present, and the future. She's always there, floating around in some corner of his mind, forced into some part of his life, whether she knows it or not.

He nearly falls apart as her eyes burn through his, and pulls away. "M' too close," he breathes, trembling as she laughs quietly. It's not a normal sound, rigid and unlit around the edges. But nonetheless, it's a laugh.

She rises to her feet, legs wobbling from kneeling for so long. Eli sits on the sofa, still trying to catch his breath. His body is tingly all over, mind scrambled from her mouth around him. And he didn't even cum. 

She slips off her underwear, stumbling slightly as she kicks them away. He chuckles, and she rolls her eyes, slipping into his lap. She's facing him, inhaling his exhales, gripping his shoulders as she leans forward, kissing Eli with a hunger she's only known for him. His hands squeeze her hips gently as she pulls away.

"You're shaking," she whispers, wearing a playful half smile as she aligns his shaft between her legs. He gets ready to fire back at her, but is promptly cut off by the wet warmth squeezing him. She leans forward, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck as she rides him. He grunts at the pressure and heat, meeting her halfway and bucking upwards. His hand snakes down between them, fingers urgently finding her clit. "Fuck," she moans, voice muffled by the flesh of his neck.

His fingers graze over her thigh, which is sweaty, muscles straining as she bucks forward. He can feel her lips peppering soft kisses against his neck, her nails digging into his shoulder. She's as tender as she can be, delicate, soft, but he knows what she's seen and done. He knows gentle is hard for her.

She lifts her head from his neck, and he's nearly overcome with delight upon seeing her face. Strands of hair stuck to her cheeks, lips ajar, pupils blown wide and her brows furrowed. His hand finds its way to her cheek, thumbing her bruised cheekbone.

"Good girl," he growls. He's the only one she'll bend for, practically melting into a pathetic heap of ash at his words. "Eli," she moans, her chest pressing against his. He cranes his neck down to kiss her shoulder, freckled from many summers, bruised and scraped by battle. 

"You're perfect," she whispers in a shaky way. And she decides Joseph isn't the Messiah he believes himself to be, but Eli is as his lengthy, thick shaft and calloused fingertips send her into sheer bliss. Eli just hums, and bucks into her harder. She's taken by surprise, and her eyes widen slightly at the sudden impact.

She takes him well and he groans at the tightness and warmth she offers. She bows her head against his, like the Heralds do with their followers. And maybe she should think this is more perverted, but this is natural, carnal,

Needed.

Eli squeezes her thigh with his free hand, making her clench around him. The hot magma brewing in her chest and mind begin to spill over, muscles tight and her body moving in a desperate way. Eli can see her getting close, and he squeezes her thigh harder. "That's my girl, c'mon," he urges, lips pressed against the shell of her ear. His breath is warm and erratic, egging her on. And she obeys him.

It's her second one of the night and her entire body trembles with a feverish delight. Each time he brings her to this point, it feels like something is resolved, some missing part from life before locked back into place. Her toes curl and her nails latch onto him, like she's afraid she'll slip away from him. Eli kisses her in a tender way she's still not accustomed to.

She's breathing hard, composing herself as Eli continues to ram into her, grunting and hissing as he approaches an enlightenment only reached while in her arms. His nails pierce her skin, creating bloody little crescents. "Fuck," he rasps, bucking into her one more time, shuddering and burrowing his head back.

The sight dazzles her, makes her want to keep him here beneath her, all to herself. She can feel his spend dribbling down her inner thighs, already making her sticky and uncomfortable. But she's something beyond tired from Eli's love and Jacobs torment. She slouches against his warm chest, the bags beneath her eyes dim and dreary, the true weight of what she did lingering sourly on her soul.

Eli's catching his breath, but he can see her fading back into who she really is—vehement, loving, committed, but violent, depraved... lost. And he wants to save her, absorb her pain and shield her from all things dreadful, but he knows she'd never let him do such a thing.

And he knows it's too late.

"Hey," he whispers, his fingers brushing her hair from her face in a swift, tender motion. She lifts her head, and she looks like she wants to cry. But that function is long forgotten, curled up and pushed aside to make room for skills of violence and destruction. God, she wants to cry in his arms more than anything.

"You did the right thing, Liz." His words are warm, sweet, and they mean nothing to her, because she feels like she's lost something profound. But she nods her head, and lets herself fall against his shoulder. His fingers rub soothing circles into her bruised, cut back, tracing over old scars. He wonders which ones are benign, acquired through silly accidents like falling off your bike or a quarrel with a sibling. And which ones are taken on through torture, trials and beatings and warfare.

The thought is jarring and he does his best to push it aside, focusing on tending to her as best he can. "I love you." It comes out in a short whisper. She doesn’t know much about herself, about what she wants, needs. But she takes some solace in the fact that she knows that she can say those four words back to him. 

“I love you too.”

She can’t help remembering Jacobs corpse. And she wonders if anyone truly loved him in the way she loves Eli. He didn’t deserve it, but maybe he needed it to save him.

Maybe Eli saved her.


End file.
